


Just Another Day at Skyhold, or, How Cassandra Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Spymaster

by SoManyJacks



Series: Where did all these nugs come from? [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Orlesians are sneaky, POV Varric, Semi-Public Sex, Terrible bards, Varric the Spymaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 20:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4638594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyJacks/pseuds/SoManyJacks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place concurrently with <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4420730/chapters/10577799">Chapter 11 of Dangerous.</a> Varric foils a terrible Orlesian plot, and Cassandra has some interesting ways to celebrate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Day at Skyhold, or, How Cassandra Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Spymaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weatheredlaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/gifts).



> Sort-of-requested by weatheredlaw, who wanted to know just what Varric and Cassandra get up to during long, boring banquets at Skyhold.
> 
> Apologies in advance - this is super un-beta'd.

“Now  _ this  _ is a party,” Varric said, nodding in satisfaction. He and Cassandra took their seats at the table, loaded with Ferelden delicacies supplied by King Alistair for his farewell banquet. Although “delicate” wasn’t often a word used when referring to Ferelden cuisine. Though the dishes lacked the nuanced flavors of, say, Riviani or Orlesian food, it was comforting, simple, and pretty damn delicious.

Not that they lacked for good food at Skyhold. The stuff they served in the dining hall was good, really. It was... fine. The cooks down there did amazing things with turnips and ram meat, they really did. There were always plenty of apples, maybe a bit withered from long storage in barrels, and as much hard cheese and brown bread as you like. And thanks to whatever sweet nothings Cole whispered to the chickens, there were fresh eggs every morning. It was good, really. Perfectly adequate.

But still. King Alistair had apparently emptied the larders in Denerim for his state visit to mark the victory over Corypheus. The tables were groaning with roast geese and smoky pork, peas and crispy potatoes, quince pies and bread pudding, and of course, about eight different kinds of cheese. Most importantly, there was nary a turnip in sight. 

“It seems a lot of food,” Cassandra frowned.

“It  _ is  _ a lot of food,” Varric said, helping himself to a generous portion of goose. “Don’t worry, Seeker. It won’t go to waste. Trust me, the staff’ll be feasting for days. All of this stuff keeps. Not like those dainty Orlesian snacks.” 

“This is true,” Cassandra nodded, seriously. Her apparent need to avoid waste ameliorated, she reached for the roast pork. 

“The more I learn about this king, the more I like him,” Bull said across the table around a mouthful of pie. “He’s a good guy.”

“Are you sure it’s not just ‘cause he’s a redhead, Tiny?” Varric grinned. He poured a goblet of mead.

“Doesn’t hurt,” Bull said. “Doesn’t hurt at all.”

Much as Varric loved a good late night at the tavern, this was the kind of celebration he liked best. Stories and food and drinking and dancing, all at the same time and in the perfect proportion, with a much smaller chance that a bar fight would break out. A night like this almost made having to fight those damn demons worth it.

A few hours in, he leaned on the back of Cassandra’s chair, watching the dancing. 

“Do you miss dancing?” Cassandra asked, tilting her face up to his.

Varric shrugged. “A little,” he admitted. “I’d rather have you and never dance again, though.” He reached down to pull her hand up, kissing it.

“You are such a romantic,” she sighed, shaking her head.

“You love it,” Varric grinned.

“I do,” she smiled.

He opened his mouth to reply, but then snapped his head up, scowling towards the dancers. “What the hell?”

The King was dancing with Inquisitor Lavellan, one of those stuffy Orlesian dances where you stand side by side and walk around a lot - a Polonaise, it was called. The floor had cleared - nothing unusual about that. People tend to make room when celebrity-types are around. 

The problem was the damn Orlesian bard. Varric had never liked her, and now he knew why. She’d started out the dance playing one tune, and then switched once all eyes were on the dancers. 

_ Oh, Grey Warden, what have you done?   
The oath you have taken is all but broken. _

The look of momentary panic on the Inquisitor’s face made Varric want to set things on fire. Cassandra half-rose from her chair, her hand automatically going for her sword. Thank Andraste she wasn’t wearing it. 

It wasn’t exactly a secret among the inner circle that Lavellan and Alistair had become close. Very close. Yes, he was married, true, but Andraste’s ass, the man had helped save the world ten years ago, only to watch his true love die, then he had to marry his half-brother’s widow. A woman, who by all accounts, barely tolerated him. It was an unspoken rule in polite society that anyone forced into a political marriage had a little leeway, as long as things were discreet. 

Casting aspersions about the man’s wedding vows on the dance floor? Not discreet.

“How  _ dare  _ she imply -” Cassandra’s eyes were hard.

Varric felt a telltale prickling at the back of his neck, a sense honed by many, many years in sketchy taverns. Something was wrong, beyond the bard being either stupid or tasteless. He put a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder and held up a finger with his other hand.

He looked around carefully. The King and Vira looked distraught, whispering to each other. The mood of the room was tense. At the back of the crowd, Cullen was talking to a masked Orlesian, the guy Varric saw hanging around the Great Hall. Huge gossip, that one. Cullen’s eyes were narrowed and his face was pinched with barely suppressed anger. Varric saw Bull go over to investigate. 

That wasn’t all though. There was something else. Something nagging at him. Something Varric had noticed without realizing it. He scanned the room again.

There! A member of the kitchen staff was hanging about, with a single drink on a tray. She’d had that drink for most of an hour. And wasn’t that girl a baker? From Orlais? Varric remembered seeing the employment record skate across his desk, barely three weeks ago. What was she doing serving drinks and looking like she’d swallowed a live nug?

“Something’s wrong,” Varric said. “Someone’s going to try something. I need to get to the bottom of it.” 

Cassandra looked at him in concern. “I shall -”

“You shall stay right here,” Varric said firmly. “This is spy stuff, Seeker. Trust me.” He winked at her. Varric sidled up to Bull and Cullen, just as the Orlesian scurried away. “Gentlemen. Something I should know?”

“Keep an eye on that one,” Bull said. “Trying to start shit about the King and Vira.”

“Shit. Leave it to the Orlesians. Sparkler, you know how to play that lute you got in your little nook?”

“Of course,” Dorian said.

“Get ready for your Skyhold debut. I think our bard’s going to come down with a case of the vapors she sees her friend is missing. The oldest Plan B in the book.” Varric’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He jerked his head at Bull; the Qunari nodded and casually circled the room to stand just behind Maryden. Varric went the opposite direction and snuck up behind the serving girl, whose eyes were trained on the bard.

Alistair and Lavellan, meanwhile, had turned the tables. The King had changed the dance step from a polonaise to a waltz and was twirling and spinning the tiny elf with abandon. They had silly happy smiles on their faces, and the crowd was laughing and clapping. Varric was impressed. Everyone was paying so much attention to the actual dancing that the lyrics were buried. 

The next song began. Varric allowed a pleasant smile to fall over his face, and he nodded along to the music. Sure enough, about thirty seconds in, the bard collapsed in a dramatic faint.

Bull was there instantly, sweeping her into his huge arms. Varric took advantage of the distraction to snatch the drink off the girl’s tray.

“Ah, just what I needed,” Varric said, raising the glass to his lips.

The girl actually gasped and held out a hand to stop him. “No, Ser, that's for the Inquisitor,” she yelped.

“You are _really_ bad at this,” Varric noted. He shook his head and dipped a finger into the drink and into his mouth. Embrium. Not a lot, but enough to make someone feel quite sick. Of course. Make the Inquisitor feel ill so she has to leave, and then goad Cullen and Alistair into a fight. Varric rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Embrium?” When she stammered a vague protest, Varric beckoned a nearby guard. “Escort this young woman to a holding cell, please. Quietly.”

Bull lumbered up with a pretending-to-be-unconscious bard draped in his arms. “Want me to take this one to the cells too?” By the way Maryden tensed in Bull’s grip, it was clear she was awake. 

“Too late for that, dearie,” Varric snickered. “You are in way over your head.” He crooked his finger at the guards standing at the entrance. “Let these guys take her. Her little friend’ll probably go looking for her in the hall of healing, but he might try to come back here, too. I want you to make a grand exit in a little while, in case he’s watching the doors. If he tries to sneak back in, we’ll nab him.”

“Good plan,” Bull nodded.

The dwarf shook his head sharply at Josephine, who was headed for the center of the crowd. Varric made his way to the dance floor in front of the fireplace and held up his hands. “It’s all right folks, she’s in good hands. And you’re in luck, because we happen to have with us... an exquisitely talented man... who has gracefully agreed... to take the time... to provide a modicum of music... for the edification of all of you... gathered together... to celebrate -”

“All right, Varric, you can stop stalling,” Dorian called out from the hallway to the rotunda, his lute in his hand.

The crowd laughed and parted for the mage. Varric bowed and held his hands out. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present Dorian, Grand Enchanter for the Inquisition, Scion of House Pavus, most recently of Vyrantium.” He made a twirling gesture with his hand and withdrew.

Cassandra had moved to a bench near the wall by the throne, behind the crowd, probably so that she could see the whole room in case violence broke out. Varric came around to stand next to her.

“What is happening?” she hissed at him.

“Not sure. Probably just the Orlesians raking muck, but you never know. I need to wait for that dandy to get back. He left in a hurry, but he might come looking for Maryden. I need to be here when he does.” Varric said quietly. “He’s going to wait until he thinks Bull is gone. If he’s smart, anyway.”

“Do you think it serious?” Cassandra said, looking at him in concern.

Varric shrugged. “Probably not. It was almost cartoonishly amateur. I’d guess it’s just a minor rumor campaign, but it might be the start of something big. An alliance between the Inquisitor and the King of Ferelden would put Celene on edge, surely. Might be looking for weak spots. Though, frankly, if these are the kinds of people she hires, I’m embarrassed for her. Cullen said the fop was talking shit about Lavellan.”

Once again, Cassandra tried to rise. Varric put another calming hand on her shoulder. “I told you, I got this,” he said. “It’s actually pretty crucial that I take care of it. Now that Leliana’s gone, I need to show these assholes I mean business as the new Spymaster. Now’s as good a time as any.”

Cassandra inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring, but she nodded and took her seat, training her attention on Dorian.

Varric had to admit, the man was good. His fingers traced over the strings confidently, and his singing voice was pleasant. True, they were all Tevene songs, but that was fine. A love song is a love song, really.

Cassandra turned to him. “I apologize that I tried to insert myself into your duties. I assure you it is habit, not a lack of confidence in your skills as Spymaster.”

Varric smiled. “Why, thank you, Seeker. It’s good to be appreciated. Might as well put all those years in the Merchant Guild to good use.”

“I do not think even Leliana would have been able to disrupt such a maneuver,” Cassandra said. “Her skills were more suited to reprisals.”

“Well, none of those idiots are gonna get their throats slit on my watch,” Varric said. “Anyway. I need ‘em to find out who they’re working for. Maybe they’ve got a future as a comedy troupe. They certainly displayed a talent for slapstick tonight.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise, her gaze trained on Dorian. She abhorred incompetence, even in enemy spies, it seemed. “I am proud of you, Varric. I do not say it often enough. And I am proud to be your -” She paused, looking for the right word. There really wasn’t one, Varric knew. Words were his specialty; he’d considered and discarded dozens in trying to define their relationship. 

She looked up at him. “I am proud to be  _ yours,” _ she finished.

The shock of warmth that spread out from Varric’s chest was almost painful, as sweet and surprising as it had been that first day he realized he loved her. Varric ran the back of his forefinger over her jawline. “I love you,” he murmured, and leaned in for a kiss.

There were limits to the kinds of kisses that were acceptable in public, and Cassandra apparently intended to push those to the very edge. She darted her tongue into his mouth, giving a gasping groan that shot straight through him. It took all of his willpower to pull away before they caused a scene. The slight glint in her eye indicated she knew exactly what she was doing to him. Well, two can play that game.

“So, Seeker, I’m afraid I’ll not be joining you tonight,” Varric said into her ear. “I’ll need to question the spies. Two in the morning is a surprisingly good time to get answers.”

A frown creased her forehead, but she nodded. “I understand.” Ah, Cassandra. Duty first, in all things.

“Still, it’d be a shame for you to have to wait until tomorrow, or maybe even the day after. I know how badly you hate waiting.” Varric leaned over her shoulder and retrieved a goblet, pressing himself into her back.

Two delightful spots of pink appeared, high on her cheeks. “That... would be a long time to wait,” she agreed, her voice neutral.

“I suppose you might have to take care of things on your own,” he said sadly.

Her expression did not change, but the corner of her mouth quirked. “I... might, yes,” she said, very quietly.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, given how their relationship began. Nonetheless Varric was utterly shocked when he discovered Cassandra’s predilection for... well, enjoying certain pleasures in not-so-private surroundings. He wondered if it was because she spent so long as a Seeker, sharing tents and barracks with other people, having to learn to be quiet. 

The why didn’t really matter. What mattered was it that was hot as fucking hell.

The first time he’d discovered this little facet of Cassandra’s personality was after Leliana was elected Divine. They were in Val Royeaux, attending a luncheon the day before their return to Skyhold. They’d been apart for days by then, and the excitement of not losing each other to the Chantry had them both practically buzzing with need. 

Cassandra complained of a sudden headache, and asked Varric to accompany her to her quarters. As soon as they’d rounded the corner, she pulled him behind some curtains in an alcove, dragging his hand to the waistband of her trousers. Varric wasn’t sure how many people passed by them, separated only by thin cloth as she bit her knuckles, his fingers plunging into her shockingly wet flesh. She’d come fast, faster than she ever had with him before, and silently. The only reason Varric knew it even happened was that he felt the spasms gripping his fingers.

It wasn’t hard to find excuses to indulge her in Skyhold. There were semi-public nooks and crannies a-plenty. They’d found dozens, and enjoyed the hell out of them. It wasn’t something he particularly found arousing, but he was more than happy to help her along when the urge hit.

“Perhaps we should move to the balcony,” Varric suggested. “I do rather need to keep an eye on things.”

“No. We stay here,” Cassandra said.

Varric blinked in surprise. The room was thronged with people. “I beg your pardon?”

“You must remain here, close by, in case anything happens.” She was pretty definitive about it. “As must I, in the event a fight breaks out.”

“You’re not even armed,” Varric protested.

The look she gave proved him wrong. She was armed. With daggers. Daggers that shot from her eyes.

“Okay, okay, we’ll stay,” Varric said, holding up his hands. He was a little disappointed. Still, she was right. Ah well. They’d have their fun some other time, no doubt. He moved to walk around the end of the table.

“Where are you going?” Cassandra said, an almost inaudible hitch in her voice. 

Varric turned with a snarky remark at the ready, until he’d noticed that she was sitting right up to the table, her stomach pulled tight to the edge. The hand nearest him was casually holding a wineglass, but the other was under the table, hidden by the tablecloth, presumably in her lap.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “Are you...?”

“Am I what, Varric?” She looked at him, her face implacable as always, then sipped her wine casually. She was sitting next to one of those huge bird statues Lavellan had commissioned, so the view from that side of her was obscured. And the nearest people were about ten feet away, on the other side of the table, their backs to Cassandra as they watched the dancing. Still. They could turn around at any point, to talk or get another drink or... well, anything. If Varric moved away, someone looking very closely might be able to guess what she was doing. 

Not that there was any force on earth that would drag him from her side now. Hell, the great hall could erupt in darkspawn and he wouldn’t care. 

Varric casually rested his forearm on her shoulder, leaning into her body. Though they were incredibly exposed, all eyes were on Sparkler. Still. Could she really... without anyone knowing? He knew she could be quiet, but could she keep her face calm? 

Shit, could he keep  _ himself  _ calm, knowing just what she was doing?

It seemed like Cassandra was looking at Dorian, but close observation showed her gaze was fixed at some point in the middle distance. And it wasn’t her custom to stare at Dorian with wet, parted lips and flushed cheeks.

Varric allowed his fingers to trail up and down the nape of her neck. It was a relatively innocent gesture, after all. And only he heard the fraction of a moan that stuck in Cassandra’s throat.

“Damn,” Varric breathed, biting back a groan at the sound. He leaned down, as if he was telling Cassandra a long, involved story. 

“You remember our first night together? Ahh, I still think about that sometimes, you know.” Varric shook his head and feigned a chuckle. 

Cassandra’s answering nod was a bit jerky. “I remember,” she said, a whisper of a smile lighting up her face. 

Varric continued to tickle the back of her neck as he spoke. “When you’re away, and I’m all alone, I imagine us side by side, in Caer Bronach, listening to you touch yourself. Do you?”

Cassandra looked like she was frozen in surprise at whatever Varric was telling her, her eyebrows arched. “Yes,” she said, smiling. 

“I remember the sound your fingers made, pressing into your wet heat, so wet I could almost taste it, the way you were breathing and moaning, hearing you slide those hands over your breasts, and it was all I could do to wait, to make it last. Maker, I wanted it to never ever end, stroking my cock, slow and steady, imagining I was taking you, hard, so hard.” He groaned directly into her ear.

The tiny sound of her voice breaking into a whimper might have been the hottest thing he’d ever heard.

Varric continued his ‘story’. “It was so damn good, hearing you get closer and closer and closer, imagining each and every thrust, the way I’d take you, from behind so that it was hard and deep, from the top so I could see your face, feeling it well up inside me, that first throb, right at the edge,  _ fuck, _ waiting for just the right moment, imagining your face, your body arching, wanting to lick those fingers, lick  _ you _ _,_ wanting to let you feel me get harder and harder inside you, racing towards the edge, ahh, waiting for you, for those first spasms -”

“Ngh!” It was a strangled sound that signalled Cassandra’s covert orgasm, half growl, half purr. And loud. Quite loud. Perhaps a dozen people on the other side of the table turned to see what the noise was. 

Varric could not believe how convincingly she passed it off as a sneeze, dabbing at her nose apologetically with a napkin, nodding thanks at the few people who said “Maker bless you.”

Dorian finished whatever tune he’d been playing and the crowd turned universally to applaud. Varric raised his hands as well, clapping enthusiastically. 

Cassandra did not. Not a huge surprise there. 

“I can’t believe you did that, Cassandra.” Varric shook his head in wonderment. 

“What do you mean?” Cassandra frowned at him. 

He realized his phrasing could be interpreted a bunch of ways, some of them not so nice. Despite being utterly fearless when it came to exploring new things, Cassandra was in many ways very inexperienced, something it was easy to forget. “I mean,” he grinned, leaning down again, “that you never cease to amaze me. I was in love with you for so long, and I had this picture in my head of you as this virtuous, chaste, warrior queen. And now we’re together, and I’m still finding out these little secrets about how thoroughly debauched you really are? I just keep falling for you over and over.” He traced the line of the scar on her cheek with his thumb. 

Her eyes softened. “As long as you approve,” she said seriously. “I don’t want you to think me... unworthy.”

“Oh, I approve. I greatly approve,” Varric laughed. “There is literally nothing you could ever do that would render you unworthy of an itinerant dwarf like me, believe me.”

“Good. Now kiss me,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact.

“Gladly.”


End file.
